The door whined like a struck dog
All the way after you.
During childbirth,
The myocytes of the uterus must flex
In synchrony, pulsing and organized
As sun-bound geese in autumn
So another child may run under the moon.
When you left, so took with you the child
And the moon,
The dog, the promise of summer.
Our hands, once steadfast snowbirds pulled
Towards the yellow sky grown
Landlocked and disorganized,
Blanched as winter.